


Human Violence

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gay!Castiel, Genderfluid!Gabriel, Multi, ace!sam, also you'll see other characters that aren't listed, bisexual!adam, bisexual!crowley, bisexual!dean, bisexual!gabriel, bisexual!jo, but he gets rejected, gay!bobby, gay!samandriel, i need to make it realistic gosh darn it, lesbian!meg, lesbian!rowena, lesbian!ruby, like sam has a crush on luci, pansexual!Sam, some might be from different fandoms, some small samifer, trans!Dean, trans!bela, trans!kevin, trans!samandriel, transboy!dean, transboy!kevin, transboy!samandriel, transgirl!bela
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-13 21:48:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11769057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "Why are we hurt like we are? Because we're different, and everyone else, well, they're all the same, and they're so caught up by their own self, they can't see how someone can't not be like them, and so they try and destroy that, or take what's making them different, and make it go away. And that's fucked up, I know, and it's sounds imaginary, like the plot of a movie, but's it's real. It's called human violence." - Dean WinchesterDean Winchester, a young bisexual transgender boy, constantly bullied, being beaten up and bled, nearly to the point of death narrates this heart-breaking love story of the romance of himself and another boy, Castiel Novak, a cisgender but homosexual teenager, and how they try to beat homophobia, transphobia, and other things tearing society apart and breaking human beings, and nearly humanity itself."It's a mad world, and what made it that way? People seeing difference, now that's not problem itself, but it's how they make other people's differences seem bad, and sometimes unreligious. There's nothing wrong with homosexuality-nothing, but people CHOSE to see it as horrible, and in worst cases satanic. And they shame insane people-when really-they're the mad ones."  Castiel Novak





	Human Violence

**Author's Note:**

> warning: pain and suffering, cry, cry, cry, tears, tears, tears, very sad, tHIS ISNT HAPPY SHIT LET ME TELL U. 
> 
> also enjoy ! :)

 

 

 

> **"** _they do not say rising in love, as it is in the idea of the fall._ **"**

 

**august 23rd, 1955**

It was a small group hidden in the back of the school, shabby dust-caked windows, walls stained with genuine blood, bleach, and other graffiti. The sign reading "Marbourne High GSA" in rainbow letters had fallen, the tip resting against the unfinished wood floor. Chairs of various shapes and sizes were scattered around the room. The sound of the air-conditioning was loud in the room, nearly deafening, and mostly, it was empty. 

Except for me. 

I was used to this, being the only one, being different, and it was odd, how casual this was to me, and yet the sound of my ugly cries still echoed the small, ironically, but not literally closet-sized classroom. Tears fell down my face like rain in an electric-storm, my green eyes became red because of the salty wetness. 

My button down dress was slightly damp, but it wasn't like a gave a damn. I hated the dress anyway, but it was dress-code. First of all, the fabric was itchy, leaving my skin red and stinging, second, the colour was atrocious-it's a mustard yellow matched with a blinding white, paired with a thick plaid coat over the mess of an outfit. 

What always kept me dumbfounded when I was younger was that people kept dressing me in stereotypical girl's clothing, when I was a boy. When I got older, I realized, that wasn't how people saw me, and my ignorance to that earned me a lot of still remaining bruises. 

They still called "Deborah Winchester" instead of "Dean", personally, I like Dean better, Deborah's a real tongue-twister, I'd say, but how'd I know? I'm still a young and innocent,  _impressionable_ 15 year old boy. 

Don't know what the hell that's supposed to mean, I mean they let me drive-anywhere, I could be picking up drugs by the truck-load, but apparently I'm still too young to know my own gender. 

That's fucked up, in my opinion, but of course, that doesn't matter. 

I took a deep breath, wiped the burning tears off my freckled face, finally giving up on distracting myself from the fact that I was sobbing maniacally when I should be taking my Impala home. 

My face was becoming shockingly cold from the wetness of the tears and the blizzard-like air of the AC, so I finally swung my olive-green messenger over my shoulder, wiping the last of the tears, and trudging out of the room.

Once I was out in the open in the also empty hallway, well, except for the clacking of footsteps-I assumed it was Miss Rocherre, wearing those six-inch glossy heels everyday to school, odd-as she was the P.E. teacher.

I went on with my business, walking slowly throughout this maze of a school, occasionally tripping over my untied shoes, so much that I decided "fuck it" and took them off revealing my maroon socks-nobody saw it, it didn't matter.

My dress was still soaking from my fucking thunderstorm of a crying session, that I made a beeline for the restroom, except, no one was here, no one would see, same with the socks, NO ONE stays after 4:00, except Miss Rocherre, but by the sound and echo that the heels made-she was going the opposite of me, and that would be in the direction of the parking lot towards her fucked up SlugBug.

I whipped out my student key to unlock the bathroom, everything at Marbourne was fucked up, like someone lost their student key and needed to take a piss, but they couldn't because the bathroom doors are fucking locked. If I was in charge I'd let em in, I mean for God's sakes-it's a fucking bathroom.

Finally the door creaked open, and I entered the musty, half-lit room, I hung my battered messenger up on a very loose hanger, but a hanger nonetheless. I could hardly see around this place, so finally I made my way to the paper-towelettes and pulled them out one-by-one.

I spotted a figure in the dark room, not very tall for a male, around my height, actually. From what I could see he was brunette, blue eyes? Maybe green like mine, and he was standing very close to the mirror, something in his right hand. I assumed a tweezer-I always saw boys at their lockers looking into their private mirrors popping shit on their face, observing their looks more than girls did. 

He didn't seem to notice me, so I dropped the towels into the trash, making a "tssh" sound, and I approached the oblivious boy, thinking of what to say, no matter how much I wanted to ignore him, but as I got closer I realized it was not a tweezer, but-lipstick?

What was a girl doing in the men's room-but it wasn't a girl, it was a man applying lip stai-

"OH MY LORD!" He noticed me, shivering and shaking, so much so he was close to tears, but I noticed something, his lipstick was on point, his hair was done beautifully, and his clothing was neat. 

"I'm sorry-so sorry, please don't tell, please." He sobbed, but instead I put a freezing hand on his shoulder, and he shuddered even more, "No, no, ssshhh. I'm Dean, I won't tell." I whispered to him gently, and the shuddering stopped slowly, and he looked me in the eyes, innocently. 

"You won't? B-but you saw m-me..." He stammered, tears starting to fall down his face subconsciously-staining his lipstick. Dammit, I thought, it looked really fucking good on him. 

I stopped myself in the act, even if I was bi, 'crushing' isn't a thing I do, especially not on a fucking boy. But God, was he fucking gorgeous, I was right the first time, he had blue eyes, so oceanic that I felt like I could dive in, for fuck's sake I was swooning for the boy now hastily shoving things in his bag, then starting to dart towards the door. 

"WAIT!" I yelled, and once he turned I found myself at the loss of word, and he sighed and kept walking, finally I took myself out of my daze, and ran up to him, and now I could see him in better light, we were both in the lit, well, better than the lavatory, I could see his was wearing a wildly oversized Melbourne brand Letterman jacket, the sleeves well past his finger tips, which was adorable. 

"W-what? Please don't beat me up, I'm sorry for ss-sinning." He blubbered, raising an arm to his mouth and wiping even more lipstick off his pink-tint, but now a bruised red from his harsh rubbing. I sighed and rested my arm on his shoulder once again, and he whimpered. 

"No, no-er.." I paused, hoping for him to supply a name, and after a full minute of silence, he replied quietly, "C-castiel, Castiel Novak." 

"No, Castiel, it's not a sin, it's okay." His tears finally ceased a while after I'd told him that, and he replied, "B-but, I l-like boys. It's w-rong...and messed up. I-i'm going to H-hell." 

Man, this poor kid, this poor, poor kid. He's got it wrapped around his head that being gay is a sin. GODDAMMIT! I was so pissed at whoever taught him this, I stomped my foot harshly on the floor, making him flinch. 

"No-no, I'm sorry for doing that, I'm just mad. Who told you that?" I said, trying to calm myself down, homophobes are the one thing that get to me, especially when the parents who abuse their own child, or the kids who are so ashamed at what's wrong with them they beat up other kids. I could now clearly see Castiel had a swollen cut filthy with dried blood, and there was a faded purple bruise forming around his right eye. 

Castiel whimpered, and answered, "My momma and poppa, they told me liking boys was bad and a sin, and if I ever did I'd go to Hell." He gingerly fingered his upper lip, and my rage for his parents started kindling again. 

"Well, Cas, that's not tru-" I started taking his hand in mine, but he quickly took it back, and surprisingly started yelling, "NO! THEY'RE RIGHT! I'M BAD! I'M SO, SO BAD! I'M GONNA G-GO TO HELL! I-I'M A DEMON!" He yelled savagely, lipstick tainted tears fell down his face, his eyes were incredibly bloodshot. 

He stood terrifyingly still, and I couldn't help myself, I cupped his face gently, pressed my lips against his. He started to push him self off of me, violently shaking and squirming, but after awhile fell into the kiss. I'd never kissed anyone before, I didn't know if I was doing it right, but according to his body language I was as he started wrapping his arms around me, I continued kissing him, until he pushed me away. 

"That was sinful, Dean. Th-HAT WAS BAD! I'M GOING TO GO TO HELL! B-BECAUSE O-OF-" I truly expected him to blame me, and I would just take it, but never forget about how I kissed the soft, sweet, slightly lipstick stained lips of Castiel Novak.

"Me." He finished, a single tear ran down his face, and he rushed past me, his men's shoes click-clacking against the floor. I could hear the sounds of his sobs, and something along the lines of, "I'm g-going to H-hell. I-i'm going to b-beat by M-momma." 

I secured the bag on my shoulder, and decided to exit the opposite way Castiel did, even though that would result in me walking around the entire school to get to my Impala, I wonder what car Castiel drove? I shook my head, I wasn't going to think about that boy anymore, I didn't know him, he was a face in thousands. 

I slammed the car door, checking the rear view mirror, I realized my lips were mildly red from Castiel's lipstick, and on my collar had some markings of the lipstick as well. I panicked, what would Mom think? A girl kissed me? No, I'd tell her I found a small stick of the makeup and decided to wear it, ugh, but that wouldn't explain the stain of the collar. Dammit! I'd have to secretly change before I got home, that'd be an easier lie. 

After the hour drive home, I had a realization, I'd never kiss Castiel's soft, red lips ever again, there wasn't even a 'probably', I'd never kiss him again. 

I didn't even have to change-my tears I cried in the car washed the lipstick off enough to make it unnoticeable.

 

 

 

 


End file.
